by Jeanne Allan
The moon slid behind the clouds. Never again to hear Gwen laugh. Never again to see her green eyes shooting sparks at him. Never again to watch her walk across the ranch yard. Never again to see her smile at Crissie. Never again to touch her. Never again to kiss her.
“Jake! You’ll never guess what I found.”
Gwen’s excited voice jerked him from his sobering thoughts. He turned around and almost fell off the porch again. She stood in the open doorway, the hall light outlining her body. A thin slip of a garment did nothing to hide her curves. Desire surged through him. He wanted to throw her down on the ground and jump on top of her. “What—” he cleared his throat “—what did you find?”
“Come see.” She reached out and grabbed his arm and tugged him inside. “It’s up in my room.”
He climbed the stairs behind her, savoring the view. He’d been wrong. She could surprise him. She wore the most indecent nightgear he’d ever seen. He loved every square inch of it, as few square inches as there were. It took him a minute to place that particular shade of green, and then he had it. The iridescent green of a hummingbird’s back. The garment’s top consisted of two thin straps crossing in the middle of her back. From her waist on down the nightgown hugged her body like a lover. If it didn’t take all Jake’s strength to keep from taking her on the staircase, he’d laugh at her transparent method of getting him upstairs.
He’d never been upstairs, but he could explore tomorrow. If he was still around.
Gwen dashed into one of the rooms off the hall. When he followed her in, she wheeled around. “Look.”
He shut the door. The framed portraits on the wall directly across the room from the doorway caught his eye. “I’ll be damned,” he said softly.
“Forget those pictures and look at what I found.”
Ignoring her discovery for the moment, Jake walked over and pointed to one of the photographs. “Why is her portrait up here?”
“She’s Bert’s grandmother and Gordon Winthrop’s wife. Why are you staring at her? Don’t tell me you think she’s beautiful?”
“Don’t you?”
“Her eyes are too close together and that mouth says she’s spoiled and selfish.”
Jake managed not to laugh. “You don’t think she looks like a blossom of western womanhood?”
When Gwen didn’t answer, Jake turned to her. She was bending over, putting a book on the bottom shelf of a small table beside her bed. The green fabric stretched over her hips outlining every curve. Jake forgot to breathe. When she straightened up and faced him, his heart almost stopped. The front of the dress revealed more than the back.
“You already knew,” she said flatly. “I should have guessed.”
He didn’t have a clue what she was talking about. “Honey, you really know how to dress.”
“Thank you. Good-night.”
Jake frowned and moved toward the bed. She glared at him. Somewhere along the way, he’d taken a misstep. He felt his way cautiously. “You said you had something to show me.”
“There’s no point, is there? You already know.”
“I think you need to chew that one a little finer for me, honey. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Marian. I’m talking about Marian.”
He wanted to smile at the way she spat Marian’s name, but he hadn’t been born yesterday. Gwen Ashton was riled. No... “Gwen Stoner,” he said softly. “I like the way my tongue fits around that.”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“I’m not. I’ve had one subject on my mind all evening, and it sure isn’t Marian.”
“Not just Marian. Marian Winthrop. She was Mrs. Luther Stoner before she became Mrs. Gordon Winthrop. As you well know.”
The cause of her anger finally sunk in. “You think I knew that?”
“You certainly recognized her picture fast enough.”
He could think of no ready explanation. Not one she’d believe. “You were going to show me something.”
“I’ve changed my mind.”
“If you stick that cute little nose any further in the air, you’re going to fall over the bed.”
“It’s not little. And if I fall over the bed, it’s my problem, not yours.”
He couldn’t help smiling. “If you fall over the bed, that would solve my biggest problem.”
“What problem could you possibly have?”
“How to get you on that bed.”
“Do you really think you can romance me into forgetting what you’ve done?”
Jake sighed inwardly and tamped down his desire. He could toss her on the bed and in less than five minutes make her forget whatever burr she had under her saddle. He could do it, but he had a feeling she wouldn’t forgive him for it. Nor would he. When he made love to Gwen he wanted the decision to be as much hers as his. Patience, he told himself. “Maybe I could answer your question better if I knew exactly what it is you’re accusing me of.”
“Marian.” She grabbed the book from the table and tossed it on the bed between them. “It’s all in that journal.”
Reaching over, he picked up the book and read the dates on the spine—1918 to 1923. Jake turned the slim volume over in his hands. “Marian kept a journal?” The Marian he’d known believed reading and writing spoiled a woman’s looks.
“Not Marian. Her daughter-in-law, April. Bert’s mother. Go on, read it. I’ve marked the page.”
He flipped open the journal at the marker. Elegant script covered the page. The date at the top read May 12, 1921. The ink had barely faded over time, and Jake had no trouble reading the words out loud. “‘We buried Father Winthrop this morning. Decorum requires I behave as one in mourning, but inwardly I rejoice he is no longer with us. I do not know how a man whom I disliked so intensely could sire a kind and gentle man as is my dear husband, James. I have taken pains to never let James know of the crude, unwelcome advances made to me by his own father.”’
Winthrop hadn’t changed a bit, Jake thought. He read on. “‘Marian plays the role of the grieving widow to the hilt, but she’ll not miss him, either. I believe she truly mourned her first husband, Luther, whose name Father W. never allowed spoken in this house. Marian has mentioned Luther many times since Father W. died. I found her at my dressing table this morning using some of my face paint.”’ Jake chuckled at the words in parenthesis. “‘Which James does not know I use.”’
“Don’t stop now. It’s getting interesting.”
“‘When I asked her why she married Father W., the question didn’t annoy her as I feared. She said she wouldn’t have if Luther’s brother hadn’t already died, but since he had—he was shot robbing a bank!—she needed someone to take care of her and run the ranch. I would rather lose the ranch and become a schoolteacher than marry a man like Father W. should anything happen to my dearest James, but I do not think Marian has my resolution.”’ Jake closed the book. “I don’t think so, either. Neither can I see you marrying an old goat like Gordon.”
“Of course not, because you were busy ensuring I’d marry you. There’s no difference between me and Marian, is there?”
Jake’s mouth fell open. “Comparing you and Marian is like—” he thought for a second “—comparing meat and potatoes and dessert.”
“How charming. I assume I’m the meat and potatoes.”
He winced at her tone of voice. “I meant Marian was a pretty piece of fluff. You’re a woman a man can ride the river with. You have grit.”
“Not to mention the old family ranch.”
Jake got it then. “You think I married you to get my hands on the ranch?”
“It’s rather obvious, isn’t it? As long as I thought my title to the ranch was in jeopardy, you could come across as making the big sacrifice. But the truth is, you and your relatives have absolutely no claim on my—” she accentuated the pronoun “—ranch. Marian would have inherited the ranch on Luther Stoner’s death. Gordon Winthrop got the ranch when he married Marian, and then it went t
o their son and heir, James, Bert’s father. Everything nice and legal and tidy. The only way you could get your sticky hands on the land was to marry me. You’re worse than Gordon Pease. He makes no bones about trying to take the ranch away from me. You crawled in here worse than those rattlesnakes you warned Crissie about. How did you put it? Snakes can bite, and their bite hurts. Well, Jake the Snake, you’re through here. I’ll start annulment proceedings first thing in the morning.” She turned her back to him, dismissing him.
She couldn’t have made him madder if she’d belted him in the gut. “Do not compare me to Gordon Pease,” he said coldly.
Gwen whirled around, her face stiff with anger. “You’re right. I should compare you to Gordon Winthrop. Marrying a woman for her ranch.”
She could make him madder. Icy rage built within him. “If I were Gordon Winthrop,” he bit out, “you’d have been on your back with your legs spread apart two seconds after I walked into this room. That would take care of any annulment.”
All color left Gwen’s face. “Are you threatening me?”
“Honey,” he drawled softly, “when I make love to you, you’ll want it as much as I do.”
“I’ll never want it.”
He stared deliberately at the front of her gown. Her breathing quickened. The hardening tips of her breasts pushed against the slick green fabric of her gown. He lifted his gaze to her flushed face. “Liar.”
She grabbed a green robe from the back of a chair. “You’re the liar. Pretending you didn’t come here to steal my ranch.”
Jake noted with approval the robe clung to her body in all the right places. “I never told you all I know, but there’s a lot about you I don’t know, either. I’ve never lied to you,” he added in a flat voice. “All right. I recognized Marian’s portrait. I’d seen it years ago. She was called Marian Olson then. I didn’t know who she married.”
“Why pretend you’d never heard of her when you read her name in the newspaper article?”
Jake hesitated. “My stepfather always said Jakob Stoner was no good.” Gwen didn’t need to know Frank had been talking about his stepson when he’d said it. Jake’s voice took on an edge. “That doesn’t matter. What matters is I’m not here to steal your ranch. I told you from the beginning I came here to help you, and when you don’t need my help anymore, I’ll drift.”
“I don’t need your help. You can leave anytime.”
Drawing her body up like some stiff-necked, shavetail cavalry lieutenant new to the West in no way subtracted from her feminine charms. Throwing back her shoulders and straightening her spine filled out the front of her gown and robe in a way which intensified the sexual need gnawing at him. Jake half smiled. He’d been granted a reprieve by Michaels. His stay here had nothing to do with the ownership of the ranch. Michaels had something else in mind. “I can’t leave,” he said. “You’re not the one deciding when it’s time.” Before she could explode at that, he added, “Neither am L”
“Who then?”
“Don’t really know.” He smiled. “Honey, you’re the only woman I know who could make opening and closing your mouth like a fish look sexy.” The glare in her eyes turned to speculation. Jake wondered what she’d come up with now. She’d never bore a man.
“Is this all about sleeping with me? Is that why you married me?”
“I married you so there’d be no question about you owning the ranch.” He held up a restraining hand. “Before you say it, I didn’t know Marian married Gordon after Luther died. Sleeping with you is another matter altogether. It has nothing to do with the ranch or marriage or anything other than I’m a man and you’re a woman and we want each other.”
“I don’t want you.” A heartbeat later, she said, “All right, maybe I do. I like chicken-fried steak with tons of gravy, but it’s bad for me so I never have it.”
“I’m not bad for you.”
Gwen looked directly at him. “You’re not planning to stay on here. You’ve never planned to stay. Am I right?”
“Yes.”
“And you want to sleep with me,” she said slowly.
“Yes. And you want to sleep with me.”
Her gaze never left his face. “If I sleep with you tonight, right now, will you stay?”
Her eyes were enormous pools of green. He’d give his right arm to be able to say yes. Not because he wanted to lie, but because in that moment he wanted to stay. To spend the rest of his life with her. A stupid desire. A weak one. He’d be giving her control. Giving her the power to hurt him. He’d never give that to another woman. Wanting her so badly had rotted his brain. She waited for his answer. “No, I won’t stay if you sleep with me tonight, or tomorrow night or any of a hundred nights. I don’t know when, but one day soon I’ll leave here.”
She paled, but didn’t look away. “Suppose I said I was growing to care for you. Would that matter?”
“No.” When she flinched at the curt answer, he added harshly, “I never asked you to care for me.”
“You expect me to sleep with you and not care for you?”
“Why not? Women do it all the time.”
“I see.” She pulled her robe tighter around her slender body. “I can’t say you didn’t warn me. It was the first thing you told me. You’d be moving on. You’re always moving on. Moving on so you don’t care about anyone or anything. You don’t want to care, do you?”
“Nope. Caring leads a man to do stupid things. I’ve had enough of caring, worrying and being stupid.”
The gauzy curtains at the window fluttered in the light breeze coming through the screened window. Gwen’s scent came with the breeze, beckoning, enticing. He stayed put. For endless moments her gaze seemed to search the hidden comers of his soul. Then, slowly, she loosened the sash of her robe and dropped it to the floor where it puddled around her bare feet. Stepping out of the pool of green, she held out her hand to him. “Come to bed, Jake.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Nothing. Come to bed and we’ll make love.” She started around the bed toward him.
Jake backed up until the closed door stopped his retreat. “It wouldn’t be love.” Gwen stood in front of him, her body almost touching him. He felt her warmth. Smelled her scent.
“I’m not so sure about that, but it doesn’t matter now. Too many people you’ve loved have hurt you, but I’d never hurt you, Jake. You can trust me.” She reached up and untied the thin black ribbon tie at his neck. “I can’t believe how well this old long black frock coat I found fits you. It could have been tailored for you.”
He’d recognized the clothes at once. Luther must have moved Jake’s things into the attic when he’d moved into the house. Jake caught Gwen’s hand as she started on his waistcoat buttons. He didn’t dare touch her anywhere else. Not wanting her as badly as he did. First he had to think. Figure out what game she was playing. “Maybe sleeping with you isn’t such a good idea.”
“You’re the sexiest bridegroom I’ve ever seen. You remind me of an old-fashioned gambler or gunfighter in this embroidered vest and that flat black hat I found.” She gave him a coy smile. “You’re gonna sleep with me, mister. You won me at cards, remember?” Without taking her eyes from him, she stepped back one step and slid first one thin strap, then the other off her shoulders. The gown hung for a second on her swelling breasts then slipped to the floor.
His brain, his whole body felt thick. He couldn’t sleep with Gwen. Jake knew it as surely as if someone had shouted it in his ear. Once he slept with her, he’d never be able to leave her. But he had to leave her. He thought of all those who’d in some way abandoned him. He could never abandon Gwen. He could never hurt her. It had nothing to do with the fact that he’d been sent to her to help her, not hurt her. It had everything to do with Gwen. She was messing with his buttons. Messing with his self-control. He had to get away. To think. She pulled his shirt from his trousers.
He fumbled behind him for the doorknob. “I’ll sleep in the bunkhouse.” Jerking the
bedroom door open, he fled.
Outdoors, the night air did little to cool him off. Grass rustled in the breeze and a cow mooed in the distance. What was the matter with him? He’d acted like a wet-behind-the-ears kid. If he didn’t know better, he’d think he cared for Gwen. He didn’t. He wouldn’t. The coyotes started up their infernal yapping again. Damned stupid animals. What did they have to sing about?
Gwen closed the door to her bedroom very carefully, regardless of how badly she wanted to slam it. What she really wanted to slam was Jake Stoner’s head in the door. He’d taken one look at her skinny body and run. She recognized panic in a person’s eyes when she saw it. Kicking aside her nightgown, she went to the closet and grabbed a sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants. The quilt from the bed she wrapped around her shoulders, then turned off the light and moved to the window.
Jake stood in the yard below. He didn’t turn his head. She could hit him from here with a rock. If she had a rock. He’d flipped the long coat back and stuck his hands in his pants’ pockets. His shoulders thrown back, he seemed to be studying the distant mesa.
The coyote serenade sent shivers down Gwen’s spine. Maybe they were shivareeing the newlyweds, she thought ironically. Or laughing hysterically at humans who couldn’t manage something so simple as falling into bed with one another. Coyotes didn’t worry about love, did they? Maybe they did. She’d read wolves mated for life. Lucky wolves. The male wolf didn’t tell the female he’d never care for her. The male wolf didn’t run away.
The woman who’d hurt Jake had really done a number on him. Gwen had hoped he’d admit caring in the intimacy of bed. Not that she wanted him to lie to her so she’d sleep with him. He said he’d never lied to her. Telling her he cared wouldn’t be a lie. She’d seen the look in his eyes. She’d swear he cared.
Or was it only that she wanted so much for him to care?
What did she really know about him? She knew the important things. How he was with Crissie and Mack and Doris and Tom and the horses. She knew he was an honorable man. His eyes told her that. She didn’t know all the secrets from his past, but she knew the important ones. How he’d been hurt and abandoned by those who should have loved him. Maybe someday he’d tell her his other secrets. If he didn’t, she wouldn’t be greedy. All she wanted was his love.
